


Amelioration

by island-mountain-glacier (Obscurity)



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscurity/pseuds/island-mountain-glacier
Summary: Henry only stays in New York for five months after Jo's funeral.





	

**Author's Note:**

> amelioration: an act or instance of ameliorating or making better; the state of being ameliorated or made better

Henry only stays in New York for five months after Jo's funeral. It’s too hard to stick around much longer than that, and logically, he probably should have left even earlier. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to watching the people that he loves pass on without him. Jo's death hurts just as much as Abigail's and Abe's did, and this time he doesn't have anyone left to pick up the pieces.

He reserves a seat on a flight to Wales and packs his bags. It's no split second decision. He's spent due time clearing out the antique store and making sure that everything has been sold. He catches his dulled reflection in an antique mirror that's set to be delivered later that day. He's always looked younger than he’s felt, but his unkempt hair and undereye bags make it look like his age might finally be catching up with him.

He cuts his hair shorter and dyes it blonde, per the request of the man who's supplying him with an I.D. The man’s got a bit of a strange personality, to say the least, and he's definitely got issues of his own to work out, but he's one of the best I.D. forgers in the States, so Henry listens to and follows whatever he has to say.

Henry meets him in person for the first and final time under Throgs Neck Bridge. The man looks him over a few times and nods approvingly at Henry's hair.

"Good," he says. "You look just like the picture." The man rustles through his bag and produces a worn leather wallet that’s bursting at the seams. He places it in Henry's hand. "You are Ethan Moss now," he says. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Henry says, but it end up coming out more like a question than he intends. He’s paid the man fifty grand and he doesn’t even know his name. Regardless of what he’s supposed to say, the man simply waves and walk away, somehow disappearing into the meager underbrush.

 

Henry studies the information the man gave him and his two fake passports like a religious text. He has to keep reminding himself that the information is supposed to be about him and not someone else, but it’s hard to make it fit. He looks in the mirror, and tells himself that he is Ethan Moss, over and over until it starts making a little more sense. 

He says good-bye to Abe's Antiques one last time. It’ll be the last time he ever sees it. Even if he does end up coming back to New York, the company that bought the land from him intends to turn the site into a waffle house. He spots the company's truck across the street. Once the store is gone, all that will be left for him in New York are memories.

Henry locks the door once he’s outside, but his hand lingers with the keys still in the lock. He has to remind himself that the people who he loved here are no longer alive, that he's already stayed in New York for far too long. Resigned, he gives the keys to the driver of the waffle house company truck, and hails a cab to take him to the airport.

 

Henry rents a small apartment room in a building that is just barely up to code and gets a job in data entry at a small office two blocks away.

It's an easy job. All he has to do is enter paper forms into an online database. "Digitizing," his coworkers call it. It makes him privy to a lot more information that he expects, and he wonders why the others don't become attached. It’s probably the age difference. None of the others were born yet when any of these people were alive.

Henry has every intention of avoiding his coworkers as much as he can, but when the office holiday party boasts free food, he's willing to take a few risks. Unfortunately, the allure of it also attracts more than half of the office to hang around after hours. He hopes sitting in the corner with a large plate of food will convince everyone to leave him alone, but it's to no avail.

"Ethan Moss, is it?" one of them asks, sliding onto the small bench. She has a weak Australian accent that's halfway there to being overridden by the modern standard Welsh one. He wouldn't be surprised if she was taking classes.

"That's correct," Henry says, shifting uncomfortably. It seems he hasn't quite shaken off the glamor of being the newest arrival. "And you are?" He feels like this is information he should probably know.

"Emilia," she says and makes a face. "You don't talk to people much, do you?"

"I used to," Henry says. It feels like a mistake the second it comes out of his mouth, but Emilia passes over it.

"I used to be the new one," she says, "just before you. Took a bit of weight off my shoulders when you arrived."

"You're...welcome?" Henry asks. Yeah, that’s definitely not what he needed to say.

"If you don't throw them a bone, though, they might keep asking questions about you even after the next person comes in," Emilia warns. "I'm sure you've noticed but not a lot happens here."

Henry grimaces. "I have," he says, "and I'll definitely keep that in mind, thank you."

The smile she gives him is pitying. "Good luck," she says and stands up, leaving him for the table with the pine tree-shaped cookies on them.

Henry's left alone for a solid five minutes, just enough time to eat a handful of olives with carrot slices fed through the pitted area, before another one of his coworkers appears. He's wearing a giant knit sweater with little holiday-related motifs. He's also probably a bit tipsy, if the way he walks and the reddening sobriety band on his left wrist are any indication.

"Hey, Ethan," he says, a huge grin on his face he flops down onto the bench, taking more space than what's available. Henry promptly scoots over, trying to limit how much space he's taking on the bench.

"You've got a bit of a strange accent there," the man continues. "We've been taking bets on where you're actually from."

Henry makes a face. Maybe he hasn't been blending in as well as he'd hoped.

"Earth," Henry says instinctively, only remembering Emilia’s warning after he’s already said it.

The man frowns. "That's not–listen–it's been killing all of us for months." He glances down at his sobriety band and sighs. "Look, is it that you don't know anything about any of us, because I can tell you lots."

Henry tries to tell him otherwise, but the man's already plowing forward with determination.

"My full name is Olzii Obama Oirat," he says. "My parents loved Obama, but they didn't realize that was his last name until I was five. Can't blame them. We were in Mongolia during the information ban, and it's hard to remember stuff when you can't look anything up for three years.

"Emilia," Olzii continues, pointing her out, "who has an undisclosed last name, also has two wives. They all moved here from Australia because one of them has a secret job that requires her to be in Wales." He lowers his voice a bit, like he's trying to whisper, but it doesn't really make any difference. "We all think that she's probably a secret agent.

"Howard Howard over there had parents who thought it would be absolutely hilarious if ey had the same first name as eir last name. It wasn't quite as funny for them when they had to pull em, out of school because the other kids wouldn't shut up about it.

"Brietta with the blue hair owns a monster truck. Brietta with the green hair has thirty-two pets. Ten of them are lizards." Olzii fixes Henry with a very serious look. "I can keep going," he says.

"Don't," Henry says quickly. "There's absolutely no need to. In fact there was no need to in the first place."

"Oh," Olzii says, distraught, "uh, sorry." He looks down at his sobriety band, his eyebrows knit together in a worrisome frown. "I'm being overly intrusive again, aren't I?" he asks.

Before Henry can stop him, Olzii's already standing up and walking away. No one stops by his bench for the rest of the night.

By the time Henry makes it back to his apartment, he's flooded with guilt and loneliness. He doesn't like to admit it, but he really misses having someone to talk to or be close to. Truthfully, he's always had someone tethering him back to the world of mortality. It's the dividing factor between him and Adam.

 

Henry doesn't take the holidays off. He shows up to work the Monday after the party with both a tie and a scarf around his neck. The office is practically deserted. No one else is there except Olzii, Brietta with the blue hair, and two other people.

When the clock hits twelve and the computers freeze to prevent overtime work, the others gather around the table, sharing food in a quasi-holiday celebration. Henry lingers at his desk, unsure if he should join them. He wouldn't have normally, and there was nothing that he'd done Friday evening that would have changed his relationship with any of his coworkers. As much as he wants to make friends, he's not entirely sure he's welcome now.

Olzii ends up showing up at his table halfway through the break, a small baggie of cookies in his hands.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Olzii says, scratching at his neck nervously. "I was being pretty intrusive. I didn't mean to needle you like that."

"I was a bit harsh myself," Henry says, jumping at the chance. "There was no need for me to dismiss you like I did."

Olzii looks hopeful. "Do over, then? I _would_ like to try being friends."

"I would too,” Henry says.

“Wonderful!” Olzii says happily. He holds the bag of cookies out to Henry. “These were actually meant to be an apology gift. Jane over there”—he gestures towards the table where the others are watching—“has an S.O. that’s absolutely stellar at baking, owns a bakery and everything.”

“I’ll have to drop by there sometime,” Henry says, accepting the bag. “I’ll admit, I haven’t been around much since I’ve come back. I vacationed in this city once, and it’s changed a lot since then.” And there he goes again. He needs to stop talking like this, dropping little hints that might end up pointing to his immortality.

“I’m sure we can show you around, if you want,” Olzii says, digging through his wallet and handing Henry a business card for the shop. “And by ‘we’, I mean the entire office. Put all of us together, and you’ve got someone who knows this city inside out.”

Olzii’s really excitable, Henry realizes. He’s known plenty of people like him, but he wonders if Olzii’s the type who actually follows through with his plans.

“Are you free after work today?” Olzii asks, already on his phone. “There’s this one pizza place that’s the pride of Main Street, and if you haven’t been, you need to go immediately.”

Henry almost laughs. That answers that question.

 

What was originally no social life suddenly skyrockets into far too much of one. He barely has any alone time at all anymore. It’s a stroke of luck that his coworkers have stopped asking questions about his accent or his backstory.

It only lasts for so long though, and Henry doesn’t blame them. Curiosity is a powerful motivator.

He’s out with Olzii and Brietta with the green hair (and the ten lizards) at an ice cream parlor when Olzii dismisses himself for a quick trip to the bathroom.

Brietta finishes off her ice-cream in a few bites and looks at Henry with a very serious look. “Ok, Ethan,” she says, “I know Olzii said we weren’t supposed to bother you about your past ‘n shit, but like seriously. What’s up with your accent?”

Henry stares down at his ice-cream. Olzii is right about the place. The ice-cream here is really good. The strawberry flavor tastes exactly like the kind that Abe loved as a kid. It’s making him feel nostaligic.

"I grew up here in Wales," Henry explains, "but I moved to the United States when I was thirteen or so, so still pretty young." He laughs. “I wasn’t aware that I’d lost so much of my original accent.”

Brietta doesn’t seem to be completely satisfied. “Why’d you move?” she presses, and Henry knows that look. She’s definitely going to try to get as much out of these few minutes as she can.

Henry sits back and smiles. It’s not the same knowing smirk that he wore back in New York, but he’s growing into it. “It’s a long story,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm seriously disappointed in myself with that ending lmao
> 
>  
> 
> sources, notes, etc
> 
> The information ban, a total ban on all forms of non-fiction, voted in due to low voter turnout ('it'll never happen') and protest votes ('we need to do something about the fact that most history is written in a very biased way and that it's very easy for there to be lies in published works that people will base arguments off of'). Happened in about 100 countries from all continents, lasted for about three years before it was overturned, because really?? like????
> 
> The nameless guy who makes the fake IDs is kinda based of that one guy from White Collar. Anyways, he doesn’t have much of a life, so he puts a lot of time coming up with backstories and filing the corresponding paperwork, so when Henry says that it’s a long story, it is a long story.
> 
> http://travel.stackexchange.com/questions/52100/i-have-two-passports-nationalities-how-do-i-use-them-when-i-travel
> 
> https://www.google.com/maps/@40.78954,-73.791348,3a,75y,90t/data=!3m8!1e2!3m6!1s95164326!2e1!3e10!6s%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2Fproxy%2F-S2BdkXsCo5sedYtyFVLYwD4r0GZKdrDuCLcArkMN2SbQONz33dWPgy9lunNF5y2tlate0782z5EKfzzl5Ro90M7N8O0lw%3Dw203-h135!7i5760!8i3840
> 
> https://www.google.com/maps/@40.7899439,-73.7907328,3a,75y,103.21h,84.36t/data=!3m8!1e1!3m6!1s-Nr36f-RV2lc%2FUzmhknX3yxI%2FAAAAAAAAAIA%2FkGDkJXF5FcsTpF2kucXtNipRhLOC7bSJACJkC!2e4!3e11!6s%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2F-Nr36f-RV2lc%2FUzmhknX3yxI%2FAAAAAAAAAIA%2FkGDkJXF5FcsTpF2kucXtNipRhLOC7bSJACJkC%2Fw203-h100-k-no-pi-2.9338646-ya321.5-ro-0-fo100%2F!7i3840!8i1919
> 
> heraldry.sca.org/names/mongolian_names_marta.html
> 
> http://www.dictionary.com/browse/amelioration


End file.
